Sydney banged on the door of Jack's apartment. Repeated phone calls had gone unanswered; messages on his machine unreturned. "Dad? Dad, I'm not leaving until you open the door." His car was parked in the driveway. It was obvious that he was home. She was rewarded for her persistence when the door opened, Jack glowering at his daughter.

"I would have thought that it was obvious that I did not want to be disturbed," he said irritably, his eyes softening slightly at his daughter's determined look.

"Dad, are you going to invite me in?" Vaughn had given her an edited version of the debrief. She was worried about him.

Reluctantly, Jack stepped back from the door. Sydney peered around the room, half-expecting to find empty bottles of scotch lying on the floor. She was bewildered when she saw the room littered with maps, books, and reports. A yellow pad, filled with notes, lay on the table. She looked at her father curiously. "What," she said, "are you working on?"

With a rueful glance at his daughter, as if reading her mind, Jack started to clear a space on his couch. Sydney waved him off, grabbed a cushion, and curled up on the floor. She gazed up at him with concern, tinged with affection. Jack felt a sudden surge of gratitude for this daughter who had kept him centered during the dark years, and for the gradually strengthening bonds of love between them.

Jack couldn't remember the drive home from the Ops Center the previous evening. Dazed and perplexed, he had staggered through his apartment door heading straight for the scotch. To clear his mind of the echoes. To drown his confusion. To escape the dread that he had been wrong again.

The phone had rung, but he hadn't bothered to pick it up. It rolled over to his answering machine. "This is 642-9815. Please leave a message at the tone," intoned the machine impersonally. Then he had Sydney's voice. "Dad? It's Sydney. If you're there, pick up the phone...Dad? Dad, whatever happened, I love you. I want to help. Please call." Sydney's voice, reaching out to him, had silenced the echoes. Had helped him recall the magnitude of the gift he had received from Irina. Had reminded him that she had had numerous opportunities to join Sloane, but had only done so when a gun had been pointed at his head. He had poured the scotch down the sink and gone to work.

He looked over at Sydney and hesitated, not knowing where to start. He would need to tell her at some point what he had in mind, but decided to give her the background first. "You heard about the mission, I gather?"

"Yes," she answered cautiously. "I got the sense that your account wasn't... complete. What really happened?" She added hastily, "That you can tell me," reddening slightly.

"It was a setup for Sloane to capture your mother. His intel was good, and they caught us flat-footed at the hotel. He needed Irina, not me. She saved my life the first time by pulling a 'Cuvee' on him." He shared a smile with his daughter. Irina Derevko could be very convincing when she wanted to be. "When we got to the backup extraction point, we were ambushed again. I led them away from Irina, so that Sloane wouldn't capture her. Your mother," said Jack with exasperation, "disagreed with my plan. She exchanged herself for me. She's with Sloane now. The deal," he sighed, "was for her to help him in exchange for my life."

Sydney whistled silently to herself. It was almost as bad as she had heard.

"While we were on the mission, we had an opportunity to talk." He wasn't going to fill in all the blanks, not even for Sydney. "We were able to discuss a number of things more openly, including her reasons for leaving us. Sydney, you need to have this conversation with your mother yourself, but you should know that she loved you very deeply. And still does." He paused, not quite sure how to continue.

Sydney, eyes suddenly full, watched her father's face closely. She had always been able to read the minute shifts in his expressions, and couldn't understand those that couldn't. She read something there that she hadn't seen in a long time. She checked again, to make sure she hadn't imagined it.

"She loved you too," she breathed wonderingly. "You think that she made the deal with Sloane because she loves you." Who was this man in front of her who had taken her father's place? "You couldn't tell them that, could you? Not a second time." Things were starting to fall into place.

Jack looked at her gratefully. He just nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. It was going to take a lot of practice for him to be able to talk openly about her mother.

In a smooth motion, Sydney got to her feet and threw her arms around him. He buried his head in her hair, momentarily overcome. After a moment, Sydney pulled back and looked up at him. Hating herself, but knowing that she owed it to him, she asked tentatively, "Dad. You're sure?" She couldn't bear to see him hurt again.

Finding his voice, Jack said simply, "Yes. She was quite convincing." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he remembered how convincing she had been.

Sydney studied him critically, and was satisfied. "OK, so if you're not wallowing in self-pity here, exactly what," she gestured, her wave encompassing the papers strewn over his apartment, "is all this?"

"Officially, I'm selecting my next assignment."

"And unofficially?"

"Figuring out how to get your mother. I could use your help."

They spent the next 3 hours brainstorming. They had never really worked together on mission design before. Sydney silently admired her father's ability to rapidly evaluate different scenarios; Jack was impressed by Sydney's tactical suggestions. At the end of the long evening, as both stood up and stretched, Jack asked diffidently, "Are you free tomorrow? I should have some more intel by then. I'd appreciate someone to bounce ideas off of."

"I'd love to," Sydney responded, smiling shyly. She passed on the opportunity to inquire what his intel source was, since he was officially off the case.

For the rest of the week the pattern was the same. Each evening they would gather in Jack's apartment and brainstorm strategies and plans. Sometimes Jack cooked; more often, he had been too busy to shop and they worked over takeout food. By the end of the week, Jack was ready. He gave Sydney a big bear hug. They might not see each other for a long time.

He cleared his throat. "Sydney, I'll make sure my affairs are in order before I leave. If anything...happens...everything you'll need will be in my right hand desk drawer." He gave her one last hug. "Thanks for everything, sweetheart."

"Good luck, Dad. Give my love to Mom."